


Cold Spell

by bellesque



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012), Tangled (2010)
Genre: Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Crossover, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, POV Third Person, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2020-10-25 23:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20732642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellesque/pseuds/bellesque
Summary: It's nearly wintertime in the kingdom of Corona, and Rapunzel has yet to discover a certain Winter Guardian and how he's about to change her life.A story exploring what might have happened if Flynn Rider didn't stumble upon her, but Jack Frost did.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> This is my first foray back into writing, so please be gentle...
> 
> Basically I wanted to see where Jack and Rapunzel's dynamic would go as I've shipped them for years now, and this idea hasn't left me for all that time - so here I am, with some courage to post.
> 
> Enjoy!

**“TATA, MY FLOWER! **I’ll see you in a few days’ time!”

The cool breeze carried Mother Gothel’s melodious voice back up and into the old tower as she descended from Rapunzel’s golden hair. She peered down the open window, smiling slightly as she waved goodbye to the only mother figure she had ever known.

“Goodbye, Mother!” she called after her, watching as Gothel’s figure disappeared into the foliage. Rapunzel let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, and her small smile bloomed into a full blown grin on her freckled face. Gothel’s absences were rarely missed, and she finally had the tower all to herself.

It wasn’t that it changed anything; Rapunzel was usually too chicken to climb down (what if Gothel found out?), but she settled for sitting as close to the edge as she possibly could. If her mother dearest were around, she would scream and berate the young girl, saying that she would fall to her death if she wasn’t careful.

“My hair’s anchored to the hook, Mother,” was always her exasperated reply, but since Rapunzel knew of her mother’s horrendous mood swings, she always complied.

At this moment, however, as she sat with her toes touching nothing but the wind around her, she leaned forward, smiling dreamily. She had nothing to do now as she’d done everything in her daily routine: clean the tower, read her books, cover to cover. The walls were beginning to become cramped with paintings and splashes of color, and Pascal did not look like he was in the mood to put up with any of her antics.

And yet, doing nothing made her smile with giddiness.

She recalled one of the books she’d read, one about a damsel in distress who was trapped, and a prince in disguise who had come to her rescue.

“Not so much of a damsel, huh, Pascal?” she mused, looking down beside her to where her chameleon friend was. “Although, I _am _kind of distressed. Maybe we could, I don’t know…” A look of mischief flashed across her features as she leaned closer conspiratorially. “Leave the tower?”

Pascal jumped up in surprise, squeaking his obvious protests, and Rapunzel laughed as she patted him once, twice. “You know I’m only joking. I could never. But it would be nice to.” Her face fell slightly. “But you know Mother… it’d _kill_ her.”

She pulled her knees close to her chin, a pout forming on her lips while her brows furrowed. “I _just wish_ she’d trust me for once.” Frustration was beginning to seep into her tone. “See that I’m capable of handling myself out there. The world can’t be _so _bad, and if it were, I’d still be okay, right, Pascal?” She looked at the chameleon, uncertainty now etched on her face.

Pascal gave a grunt of acknowledgment, closing his eyes once, before looking back out to the horizon in front of them. Rapunzel managed another smile, though it wasn’t as full as her usual ones. “Thanks. I should have known you’d always believe in me.”

She, too, directed her gaze back to the scenery from her tower. She could see faint outline of the kingdom nearby: the castle being the landmark that stood out to her the most, the village houses and other buildings blurring against it, and she could just tell that the city was bustling with life and energy. She wondered what the people could be doing at this very moment as she stared into the distance; could someone be baking bread, or could children be chasing each other in a game? Could a man be confessing his love to someone? She could see the big picture, but what if she was staring at someone in the background without either of them knowing?

Like how she was looking at the world right now. Did anyone wonder if they were being watched? Maybe someone was looking at the tower, unknowingly looking at her in return.

(Somebody was.)

(He was hanging upside down.)

**JACK FROST** cocked his head to one side, his thin lips pressed together in a moment of contemplation. He’d only wanted a quick nap in the seemingly empty tower he’d been eyeing, but now, as he came to realize the seemingly empty tower was in fact _occupied_, the idea of a nap didn’t seem very inviting anymore.

Their faces were inches from each other’s, but damn, the blonde really didn’t seem to mind. As though she had no concept of personal space. Her green eyes continued to stare into his, and a smirk slowly graced Jack’s boyish features as he righted himself in front of her.

He waved a hand in front of her awestruck expression. “Hey, blondie? Yeah, uh—I don’t know when we started this staring contest, but I’m _pretty_ sure I won already.” Jack’s tone was good-natured, and he chuckled, briefly closing his eyes to appreciate his own wit—but as he opened them, awaiting perhaps a sheepish expression from her, the realization that she was staring right _through_ him hit him like a ton of bricks.

_Of course,_ he thought bitterly. _Another one who just makes me feel like I don’t exist. Oh wait, I don’t! At least, not to them. And here I thought I’d found another believer._

Sighing, he floated to sit next to her, careful to avoid squashing her pet (he almost didn’t see it—what was it, a kind of lizard?) and he noticed the girl shivered visibly.

Well, at least she could _feel _his presence, even though she didn’t know he existed.

The girl laughed, a kind of breathy one, pulling Jack from his thoughts. She picked up her pet, smiling fondly at the lizard.

“Oh, Pascal, I can just feel the Christmas air coming in soon! I wonder what I’ll be getting this year—if I’m still on the nice list. Do people get taken off the nice list when they reach a certain age? Well, anyway, I’ve been nice enough, right? I think. Apart from setting Mother’s chicken on fire once…” She grimaced at the memory.

Jack began to laugh heartily this time, and the lizard-thing squeaked, narrowing its eyes as if chastising the teenager.

“Don’t worry, blondie, I’ll put in a good word for you—though I don’t think you need it, ’cause I’m pretty sure you’re in North’s good books,” he said without much thought.

Rapunzel made no action to show that she’d heard him, and she brought her thin arms around her torso. “Wintertime.” Her voice was just above a whisper, and her eyes gleamed with childlike excitement. Jack watched her intently and sat up a little straighter.

So she liked winter. That was good, _especially_ good for him. Maybe—he tried to quell the hope threatening to ignite within him—maybe he would earn a new believer after this. Maybe even a friend.

He watched as her eyes seemed to become dreamy once more, but a few seconds later she shook her head, smiling almost wistfully. What was that about?

“Well, time to eat, Pascal. I’m starved. Hazelnut soup?”

She swung her legs over the ledge, her bare feet sweeping across the brick floor as she hummed a thoughtful tune. Jack twisted his body to look at her, following her every move, quite intrigued. Who was this girl with the long (the _longest_) blonde hair, stuck in a tower, with only a lizard named Pascal for company, and never closed her windows?

(Wasn’t she afraid of thieves sneaking in?)

He smiled mischievously as he invited himself inside, looking around the circular chamber and noting that it was cramped, but in a good, lived-in kind of way—his vision was instantly assaulted by an alarming number of murals on every wall, bits and bobs scattered around the room, and just the complete colorfulness of it all.

He continued to watch her as she began to bustle around in what seemed to be the kitchen, pulling out pots and ingredients as her humming turned into singing.

(She was pretty good, he admitted.)

She probably wouldn’t mind if he stayed the night.

In fact, she wouldn’t know at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**AS RAPUNZEL BUSIED **herself with the task of making her favorite soup, Jack sauntered around the tower as though it was his own. He’d seen most of what the tower had to humbly offer aside from the beautiful murals on the wall: a candle-making corner, with yarn and knitting needles close to it, and a lot of hair just… everywhere. Yep, it probably stretched around the whole tower more than three times over. Her locks were mostly hanging from the beams overhead; he didn’t bother overthinking the logistics of having that much hair. There was a guitar in another corner by the bookshelf, and a chessboard on a chipped and paint-splattered wooden table.

He was beginning to climb up the stairs when the smell of soup wafted into the room, and the spirit’s mouth watered instantaneously. Floating back towards the kitchen, he could feel his lips curling upward into a smile.

Was he crazy? When was the idea of food so _exciting_?

(It wasn’t the girl, he knew that.

Okay, maybe it kind of was.

Even if she couldn’t see him.)

When Jack came into the kitchen area, she had gone back to humming, and Rapunzel was bent over a worn stove with a pot sitting atop it, stirring the contents slowly. She took one deep whiff of the smell, and her smile widened even more.

Jack stared at her incredulously.

“How can someone so solitary be _this _happy?” He rubbed his forehead, pushing away the negative thoughts and emotions before they could reach the forefront of his mind.

Because for 300 years, he was nearly _never _optimistic.

Rapunzel wiped her hands on her skirt and left the stove, announcing to no one in particular (maybe just her little froggy friend, unless she could tell he was here) that she’d be back in 15 minutes to check on her soup and in the meantime would take a shower.

(She could wash _all that hair_ in just _fifteen minutes_?)

“Don’t worry, blondie, I’ll be right here to keep your nice, warm soup company,” he called after her, floating to sit on the counter beside the stove. “Take your time, princess.”

A few minutes ticked past, and Jack, who had grown bored, craned his neck to see what her soup looked like. Carefully, he lifted the lid and—

Oh. So it looked as good as it smelled.

(Did it taste as good too?)

Figuring she wouldn’t even notice, he grabbed the wooden ladle that lay beside the pot, spooned a mouthful, blew on it once, and finally brought it to his lips.

Manny, that was good.

The sound of humming that he was growing to associate with her presence interrupted his momentary appreciation of her food, and he quickly crammed another mouthful before returning everything to its place—the lid on the pot, the ladle on the side—and sat cross-legged on the counter.

“Everything’s still in order, ma’am, no burnt chickens or hazelnuts in sight,” he rattled off as Rapunzel passed by, giving her a mock salute. Her hair was still in tangles, but she was already 6 feet through brushing it all.

It was a very good start, in Jack’s opinion.

She removed the pot’s lid as though nothing had happened, which, to her knowledge, _nothing had happened_, stirring it with the ladle as though it wasn’t strangely colder than when she’d left it.

Jack was holding his breath without meaning to.

Her forehead crinkled as she tasted her creation, expression taut with concentration on the mere flavor of the soup, and the Winter Guardian could see the freckles on her nose scrunch together.

Then, without warning, her face relaxed into a contented smile, and as she set the ladle next to the pot, Jack released the breath he was holding.

Maybe, he thought, watching her walk away to continue brushing through her insanely long hair, one more spoonful wasn’t going to hurt.

**FOR THE** rest of the day, Jack hung around Rapunzel, tailing her as he made unnecessarily snarky remarks about her activities and how she did them.

“You’ve probably read that book enough to read your frog to sleep.”

“Huh. Lizard’s got too many dresses now—have you thought of onesies this time? North tells me they’re on _every_ kid’s wish list right now.”

“Do you _always_ sing when you do things?”

He never got a response.

For Rapunzel, the day just seemed to be hanging with a cold chill in the air, and it seemed to follow her everywhere, save for the warm shower she had earlier.

Nonetheless, she enjoyed the cold. It never made her feel as alone as she usually felt, for some reason. Almost as if the cold was another entity entirely… but that would be impossible.

(She refused to listen to the nagging thought at the back of her mind.)

“Don’t think it, Punz…” she muttered to herself.

(Maybe ghosts were real?)

_(Don’t scare yourself, Rapunzel!)_

Rubbing her eyes after a routine day of cleaning, cooking, and whiling her time away, Rapunzel settled into the warm covers of her bed. She had draped her golden hair over the beams and hooks around the tower, and was now ready to fall into a comfortable sleep thanks to the cozy weather. Her favorite—to be bundled up, keeping warm, because it was cold outside.

She closed her eyes and began thinking of the possibility of the first snowfall of the year. It had grown awfully chilly very quickly; autumn seemed to be fading fast into winter, but she had yet to see the first sign of snow.

Pascal nestled into the mattress beside her, and Rapunzel opened her eyes to give him an affectionate pat. “Good night, Pascal,” she whispered as she delicately tucked her chameleon into her side. Her eyes closed once more, and she allowed sleep to slowly pull her in—

When she felt an unnaturally cool breeze creep into her room, and she shivered violently.

Rapunzel sat up. Realizing she couldn’t quite sleep yet, she gingerly walked to her room’s window, tiptoeing lightly as though she were treading on actual ice. She propped her elbows on the sill as she stared outside.

The scenery draped in moonlight was beautiful, and the moon was even more so.

She gazed at the twinkling stars above her a little while longer, admiring the night in all its beauty. No one to interrupt this moment of utmost admiration. Mother Gothel would never have allowed her to be up this late, and she especially wouldn’t approve of her daughter sitting close to the edge of the window, but she reminded herself that she had the tower to herself for a little longer.

And the thought made a little rush go through her.

As she continued to gaze intently at the night sky, she was blissfully unaware of the silent—yet still completely chaotic—mess that was happening just by her bedside bookshelf.

Yes, she still had no idea who Jack Frost was.

But he had brewed a plan to change that.


	3. Chapter 3

**JACK DIDN’T KNOW** where this plan had even stemmed from. One minute he was enjoying merely following the girl around, making remarks she couldn’t hear and not receiving annoyed looks from her (or anyone, for that matter), and the next, he was cooking up a plan to get her to believe in him.

Why?

Well, as if the answer wasn’t glaringly obvious—he missed having believers. The contact. The friendship. In these parts especially, believer counts were low, and Jack needed those. He needed some fun.

And sometimes, fun involved other people, not just hurling snowballs aimlessly by himself.

(And also, he just didn’t feel like going mad with loneliness. Especially when he was around someone as chipper as the blondie with 60 feet of hair.)

He flipped through the titles on her shelf, searching for any book, _any_, that had even the slightest chance of mentioning him. He’d pick one up, haphazardly open to the first couple of pages before tossing it (as quietly as possible) to the side and picking up a new book.

He had to be _somewhere_.

The girl turned away from the window, presumably to go back into bed, and Jack abruptly stopped his rummaging midway, freezing in place. Thank Manny he wasn’t holding up a book at the exact moment she turned around; how would she react if she came face-to-face with a floating copy of The Three Musketeers?

Her eyes widened momentarily, then narrowed as she neared the bookshelf.

Jack looked around and saw the mess he had made—books strewn on the floor, some just on a different place on the shelf; others were opened to random pages and a few faced down. He let out a short laugh of embarrassment, rubbing the back of his neck.

Oops?

“Pascal, what did you do?” she asked warily as she picked up the books on the floor. “You little trickster.”

Jack’s mouth fell open in disbelief, looking from her, to Pascal on the mattress, who was scowling his indignation.

“You think—?” He scoffed a little, giving a little shake of his head. “Oh, come on, blondie, you think your _frog’s_ the trickster? Now that’s an insult, since I’m standing right here.”

He stepped aside to let her put the books back in their proper order on the shelf, not that she knew he existed (_yet_), but more for his sake than hers. He couldn’t take being walked through, not right now.

He leaned against the side of the bookshelf, observing her as he did for the entire day he was here. She was quiet this time, he noted: no humming or singing, and her usual smile wasn’t on her face.

Maybe she was just tired?

A wave of guilt washed over Jack—perhaps the middle of the night wasn’t the best time to try to make his presence known?

She placed the last book in its right place on the shelf and climbed back into her bed, yawning.

“Okay. All done. Sleep,” she mumbled to herself, eyes drifting closed as she settled deeper into her rest. Jack allowed himself a small smile. At least she wasn’t restless anymore.

A beam of golden light, a different hue from Rapunzel’s hair, streamed steadily into the room from the window, and Jack turned around at the familiar sight.

“Sandy.”

He grinned as the stout Guardian floated into the room, sitting comfortably on a sand cloud. Of course he’d visit this girl; there had to be more than just routine and structured days to keep her motivated to do things with the energy she had.

Maybe Sandy was the reason why she was almost a literal ray of sunshine.

“You know her?” he asked, gesturing loosely to the sleeping figure on the four poster bed. Sandy smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

“Been making sure she only gets the good dreams?” he murmured, floating to the top of her bookshelf and crouching on the balls of his toes. His eyes were fixed on her as Sandy worked his magic: a horse trotting leisurely over her head. A mermaid coming to the surface, then disappearing into the sand stream. His eyes softened as Rapunzel’s expression relaxed further as Sandy’s creatures took over to guide her consciousness into a restful night.

Sandy looked up at Jack, who was still perched on the girl’s bookshelf, curiosity in the Sandman’s eyes. Jack wouldn’t take his eyes off the sleeping girl, but it wasn’t in a predatory way—he never had a history of that. But at the same time, the way he looked at her was different. Different from the looks he gave nonbelievers; this was longing, yes, but a different kind.

Realization dawned on Sandy, and his face lit up with barely concealed excitement. Jack wasn’t looking at him still, and Sandy brought himself to be at the same level as Jack was.

It seemed to work; Jack tore his gaze away from Rapunzel and looked at Sandy, who was bobbing excitedly in his cloud of sand. “Yeah? What is it, Sandy?”

Mutely, he pointed at the girl, and then at Jack, and then back at the girl. He nodded, as if asking if Jack understood him—and the bewilderment evident on his face made Sandy frown slightly.

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Sandy.”

The corners of Sandy’s lips pulled down in a sulky pout; he rolled his eyes, and emphatically pointed at Rapunzel. He waited for Jack to speak.

Jack quirked an eyebrow. “Yes—blondie. She’s sleeping, dreaming—” His eyes tried to focus on the sand figures his fellow Guardian was making, but they were shifting from shape to shape too quickly, materializing and evaporating from one form to another before Jack could make sense of any of it. “Whoa, whoa, slow down there, buddy!”

Sandy let out a breath of air, as though he was saying _Right. Let’s try this again, slowly._

He pointed at Rapunzel, then mimed sleeping. His eyes shot open, and he pointed at Jack.

“She’s not going to wake up and just suddenly be able to see me, Sandy,” Jack said dryly. He looked away for a moment, hastily masking his expression of subtle but poignant disappointment into one of neutral coolness. “That’s not how it works.”

Sandy shook his head strongly, waving his arms around in a gesture of _No, you aren’t getting it! _and once again, mimed sleeping. This time, he didn’t open his eyes, but a sand figure—a boy—materialized from the stream of sand, rising slowly as though he were walking up a flight of stairs. The figure then began to run, as though playing with others, and then flew around.

The realization that hit Jack was unlike any other he’d had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter up!
> 
> Feedback, kudos, anything at all really - I appreciate every little thing. Thank you for checking out this story, it truly means a lot. :)  
How are you liking it so far? What are your thoughts? And on another note - how was your day? I hope it was great.
> 
> Do let me know!


	4. Chapter 4

**THE SAND FIGURE **that Sandy had conjured was very familiar—in his gait, his body language, his general physique—it was so familiar, Jack realized, because Sandy had made a sand version of _him_, Jack Frost.

“You’re saying you’d make her dream of me.”

It sounded silly out loud. How could she possibly believe in him after a dream? It seemed highly unlikely, and yet…

(And yet, something deep inside him told him to go for it.

It wouldn’t hurt to try.)

“Well,” he said, getting down from his perch on her bookshelf and standing in front of the Sandman once more. “It’s worth a shot, right?”

Sandy nodded, evidently gleeful that Jack had agreed to his proposition, and started on working a dreamsand Jack into her dreams. The small figure (sand-Jack) was gliding through the air gracefully, until he joined the horse and mermaid (and sword fighting knights too?) circling around her. She snuggled into the mattress, going deeper into her slumber, and Jack noticed the subtle lift of her lips in a smile.

For the first time in a while, he felt hopeful.

Maybe Sandy was onto something.

Or at least, he told himself again, the flickering hope in his chest now sparked to life as a raging fire, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

**THE SUNLIGHT **spilled into Rapunzel’s room, its warmth gently rousing her awake. She rolled her shoulders, eyes still closed, and let out a contented sigh.

She had just woken from one of the best nights of sleep in her life: whether it was due to the fact that it was because Mother Gothel was still away, or because the weather was so invitingly cozy, she didn’t know. But there was something about waking up from this particular sleep that was so special. Different. She’d had the kind of sleep where she felt fully rested, and she just knew she had such a deep slumber that waking up was bittersweet.

There was something else, her mind told her, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it…

She sat up and stretched her limbs, making a noise that caused Pascal to grumble in his reptilian way. She giggled as she glanced at him, patting him on the head.

“Sorry to wake you up, Pascal,” she said, swinging her feet over to get out of bed. “Good morning!” She twirled around, her nightgown billowing around her legs.

It was easy to tell she was in high spirits.

She crouched next to the bed to be eye level with Pascal. “What are we going to do today, hmm?” she asked, head pointing to one side. “Chess, maybe?”

Pascal ignored her, closing his eyes and pointedly facing away from Rapunzel. She laughed lightly.

“Okay, sleepyhead. You can sleep in just a little longer.”

She rose to her feet and began her litany of chores. And as she did, she noted the newfound feeling of contentedness in her chest.

She must have slept _really _well.

She abruptly stopped sweeping, her brow furrowing together. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was _missing_ something. Forgetting something that was within her grasp, yet at the same time, entirely intangible.

“What am I _forgetting?_” she said aloud, blowing a stray strand of hair from her face. After wracking her brain for some time, she clapped her hands together and turned to Pascal, who was still sleeping on the bed.

“I know!” she exclaimed excitedly, and Pascal shot into the air with a squeak, landing on the floor and camouflaging into it. He groused somewhat, in his Pascal way, and Rapunzel grimaced.

“Oops. Sorry Pascal—again. But I know why I’m just so happy today!” She grinned, pausing for dramatic effect.

“It was the hazelnut soup,” she said proudly.

And as Pascal grumbled and groaned, crawling underneath the bed, Jack Frost stared, mouth agape, at Rapunzel.

He slapped a hand to his forehead.

_Of course_ it didn’t work.

His features hardened somewhat as he turned away from her, floating morosely towards the window.

“Thanks for getting my hopes up for nothing, Sandman,” he muttered under his breath.

He knew he wasn’t actually totally bitter about the fact that the girl still couldn’t see him. It had only been a day, after all. He’d had believers in the past that took months, even years for them to come around.

Only he had hoped it wouldn’t take as long as that. And he was wrong: it _did _hurt to try. Because he had allowed himself to hope, albeit fleetingly, that at the drop of a hat, he would have gained a new friend in this giggly, girly, gleeful blonde.

He exhaled. Maybe she just needed an extra push in the right direction.

Maybe, he thought, the ghost of a smile returning to his face, she needed some extra fun… the Jack Frost signature kind.

**HE WAS** getting into the habit of simply watching and observing her. And even though for him, routine was definitely not in his vocabulary of fun times, he enjoyed experiencing something new from the sidelines: he didn’t feel the need to wreak good-natured havoc, nor did he feel like causing extremely mischievous snowball fights. He simply enjoyed the new simplicity of it all.

Perhaps he enjoyed the structure, because he knew structure and routine wouldn’t be his life forever. He always worked on his own timetable, doing things as he saw fit, even if it got him on the naughty list. To have a break from the flexible life he’d always known, well… it was refreshing in some way to choose to tail a creature of very structured habits.

He leaned against the wall, looming casually behind her, as she sat choosing fabrics for her pet (he learned its name was Pascal—he still couldn’t really tell what it was, though).

It was the dress-making time of the day.

Jack was amused at the sour expression on the green thing’s face as it knew what was coming. Rapunzel was holding up swatches of cloth against Pascal, her tongue poking out from the side of her mouth.

“Pascal, I can’t choose,” she said, almost in a defeated tone. “Do you think you want the green, or the yellow?”

The only response was a slow and lazy eye roll.

“Maybe the pink?”

Silence.

Rapunzel set the swatches on the table. “Fine. Think about it. I’ll be back.” She smiled affectionately at Pascal, stroking his head, and walked in the direction of her bedroom.

Jack waited until she disappeared from view until he looked at the swatches. He grinned, picking up the swatches—maybe he would help little Pascal out, make sure he didn’t get a dress today. He sure looked like he didn’t want nor need one at the moment.

He fingered through them, and then stopped at one swatch.

There, in his hands, lay a small square patch of blue cloth—one that almost matched the hoodie he was wearing.

Jack couldn’t help the thrill that shot through him quickly, his heartbeat quickening as a result.

As he abandoned his plan of freezing the swatches, he carefully placed them on the table, making sure that the blue square was the one that stuck out the most.

He licked his lips, and he knew it was a long shot, but in the span of one day, he knew he had gone in too deep. He had somehow placed a lot of hope that this girl would believe in him, and though he wouldn’t acknowledge it, he knew he would go great lengths to get her to see him. Believe in him.

Maybe even become friends.

And with that justification in mind, he wondered—

Sandy made sure she dreamed in full color, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, I know. I've been swamped. Life's been busy, to say the least.
> 
> I'm sad to say that after this chapter, I might be putting this work on hiatus. If not a hiatus, then just expect really sporadic updates. I've got the next chapter about halfway through, but I really need to do a little more planning than just the outline I've got right now. To those who were looking forward to this: I'm sorry, but I'll try my damnedest to see this to the end.
> 
> In the meantime, however, I've got a Loki fic (or two... or three) that's in the works! So if you're into that, I hope you stay tuned.
> 
> Merry Christmas!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is like a breath of fresh air, honestly. Makes me nostalgic for simpler times and I'm here for it.  
Hope everyone is staying safe! I love you all :)  
Enjoy!

**HE HOPED THAT** the small patch would ring a bell for her. Maybe just jog her memory, even a little bit. A part of him knew it wouldn’t matter much, but hey, she would make the connection eventually.

Before or after she believed in him, he didn’t know.

Rapunzel came back and sat down in the worn wooden chair, propping her elbows onto the table and resting her chin in her hands. “Made a decision yet?”

“He didn’t, _I_ made it for him,” replied Jack, the corners of his mouth quirking upward in a smile.

He watched with bated breath as Rapunzel puzzled momentarily over the swatches before her. Her lips pursed, eyes narrowing, as she gently picked up the blue swatch of cloth Jack had so carefully placed into prominence. Her green eyes flitted from the swatch to Pascal, then back again.

“Are you sure you won’t clash with the blue?” she mused.

“You think the pinks and purples look better?” Jack snorted in response. “C’mon, blondie, I know I’m in there somewhere in your mind.”

Pascal made a noise, one that signified he didn’t care in the least what Rapunzel would put him in, and somehow that seemed to satisfy the girl. “Alright then, one blue dress it is, coming right up."

She stood to get the fabric to begin making patterns, and Jack kicked off the floor to float after her.

“Don’t you think he’s a little tired of dresses?” He didn’t know why he bothered asking when he knew the answer would always be the same: silence. “Maybe take a rain check, try something new… or maybe the blue actually means something _else?_”

She paid him no mind as she walked back to the table with some blue fabric in hand, just a touch lighter than the color of Jack’s hoodie. She stared at it for a while.

Jack saw her expression and couldn’t help but speak his mind—it wasn’t as if she could hear him anyway; why stop now?

“Yes!” His tone was emphatic. “Are you finally remembering the dream Sandy gave you last night?”

“Do you think _I_ would look good in blue, Pascal?” she questioned, tilting her head to one side.

“Sure, why not, but let’s not forget I look even better.” His mouth pressed into a thin line. _Remember me, damn it._

Rapunzel set to work on creating yet another dress for her camouflaging companion, and Jack squatted on the banister railing, doing what he had been doing for the past couple of days: simply watching her.

Rapunzel smiled proudly at Pascal, clearly pleased with her latest creation.

“Well, do you like it?” she grinned. Pascal’s sour expression didn’t change.

She placed her hands on her hips. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you these days, but a little enthusiasm and _appreciation _would be nice. You’ve been a real sourpuss lately.”

He wiggled out of the dress and crawled off the table, leaving Rapunzel to pout sullenly.

“Well, _I _had fun.”

“So did I,” chimed in Jack, amused.

Rapunzel stretched her limbs. Her eyes flickered across the room that burst with life and color as she did, and she decided that she would paint next.

What to paint, however, was the question.

Her hands opened the box of paints with the ease that came with familiarity, and she studied the colors she had to work with. Blues, violets, whites, hues of winter sunsets in Corona—and instantly Rapunzel knew what she was going to paint.

She set to work with fervor, consumed by the muse to create.

Jack watched her as he always did. Only this time, it was different. He found himself entranced by the way she blended colors together, trying to guess what the final outcome would be as she dabbed and smudged at the wall. He never knew he could be so captivated by something so silent, so peaceful, that he was surprised when he knocked over the jar of white paint.

A small amount of it dribbled down onto the floor, and Jack glanced at Rapunzel to see if she’d noticed—only she continued to streak dark blue across the empty wall.

She wouldn’t notice, he thought as he swiped his finger to collect the drop of paint, if he added his own personal mark into her mural. Nothing big or flashy, of course; inconspicuous enough for it to blend into her work, but obvious enough for him to know that he added it intentionally.

So he crept to the side, eyes trained on Rapunzel’s focused face, and pressed his paint-stained finger into the wall.

There it was, his contribution to the mural: a white spot just in the corner, far enough that she couldn’t see it. Satisfied, he floated back to continue watching Rapunzel from the sidelines.

As she moved to the corner where Jack had added his _inconspicuous _imprint, however, her hand paused midair.

He grimaced. So he was wrong, he realized as she bent to examine his little spot. He expected some kind of comment, any verbal indication of her confusion, except she simply picked up the jar of white paint and began dotting circles around the painting.

What was she doing?

Jack’s brows knit together. Captivated he watched as the mural unfolded, stroke by stroke, splotch after splotch, before his eyes.

His heart warmed as it became increasingly clear as the moments ticked past. White specks, varying in size, some closer together and some farther apart, appearing as though they were being blown by the wind.

Snowfall.

She had painted—no, added—_snow._ Winter. Something related to _him._ Jack inhaled sharply and with it, hope surged into his lungs. Maybe he could do this. Maybe it wasn’t so impossible. It couldn’t be a coincidence… could it?

With one final flick of her paintbrush, Rapunzel added the last bit to her mural. Smiling to herself, she took several steps back to admire her work. Jack floated to her side to marvel over it with her.

It didn’t bother him that she still didn’t know who he was, or that she still didn’t believe in him despite his many attempts today. For now, her painting was their connection. An unspoken link, though perhaps one-sided.

For now… it was enough.

He softened, making a mental note to himself to send her a few flurries sometime. “Nice job, blondie,” he muttered, giving her a sideways glance.

Wonder lit up her eyes. Rapunzel continued to gaze at the mural, raking over each corner. But underneath that wonder and excitement, Jack could see something else: longing.

_Definitely_ needed to send her more than a few flurries.

“Well…” she started, tentative. She heaved a sigh before wrenching her gaze away from the wall. “What do you think?”

He knew she was talking to Pascal. Of course. But when had it ever stopped Jack from responding before?

“It’s beautiful,” he said.

Pascal gave a squeak of approval that seemed to appease Rapunzel. She cradled him in her palm. “Thanks. It’s a little different. Not the floating lights, but… I don’t know. I guess something just came over me.” She paused, allowing a smile. “I like it.”

“You should,” Jack said, nodding. It was as if he snapped out of the fleeting moment of softness and back to being the trickster spirit he was. “Winter’s great. Especially ’round here, kids are throwing snowballs left and right—you’d probably enjoy making a snowman more, ’cause of your hair and all. Harder to run away from the kids.”

Rapunzel hurried to the window, bending over the window.

“Uh, everything okay?” Jack asked, taking a step forward.

She straightened, a puzzled look on her face. “That’s weird.” She set Pascal down and sat at the sill. “Mother should have been back by now.”

Her expression morphed from one of concern to one of unrestrained excitement. “Which means we get to stay up as late as we want!”

(That was the plan, at least.)

Rapunzel was sleeping.

An amused grin slid onto Jack’s face. Despite her plans to stay up the whole night, Rapunzel eventually tired herself out from excitement. Now she was sleeping soundly, nestled under the covers, breathing even.

Right on time, Sandy’s dreamsand slithered into the bedroom. The stout Guardian grinned, waving at Jack from his perch. He pointed at Rapunzel, a question mark above his head.

Jack shook his head. “Not yet.” He glanced at her, feelings from today washing over him. “But maybe soon.”

Sandy nodded in understanding, and once again his face lit up. Streams of sand formed into dreamsand Jack once more, but Jack waved his hand dismissively.

“It didn’t work, Sandy.” Jack climbed atop her bookshelf again, one leg swinging over the edge while he propped his arm against his other bent knee. “It’s no use. But hey, A for effort.”

But dreamsand Jack continued to fly around, pelting snowballs at a feminine figure. They laughed and chased each other as little grains of sand—snow—began to fall around them.

He sighed. Was it worth the risk of yet another disappointment to hope again?

(He did anyway.)


End file.
